101
by Lizard Pie
Summary: They knew each other from years of experience, and neither would back down without getting something first.  Quebec/Ontario
1. Chapter 1

There was a game on, at a volume which blasted proudly so all the neighbors could hear, but Ontario's eyes were focused at it rather than on it. He'd made himself a dinner of game food, poured himself beer, and they cooled, flattened, on his side table.

His fingers were laced in front of his mouth. Or, if the shades were open, his arms were on the rests. His fingertips tapped near unnoticeably on the leather to keep up appearances. His mind raced in time with the rhythm as he tried to figure out every possible person who could be meeting with him about every possible situation. He did this, and had for a long while, despite the fact that the person coming to meet him had only decided a short while ago.

Quebec didn't know this from seeing anything, as he'd hardly left his own territory at that point. He just knew Ontario well enough. He supposed this might be considered sentimental, if the knowledge that he was being anticipated didn't seem like more of a nuisance.

The only benefit he could see is that there would be an albeit cold dinner on the table that he could snatch. In all the frustrations of the day and the days before, he hadn't been the most attentive to his stomach. Within crowds, full of energy and optimism, it'd been easy to ignore. Now, though, as he tried to avoid the attentions of anyone who might realize who he was, and where he was going, it raged about his neglect.

If he were particularly lucky, there'd also be an untouched beer. That had less to do with fortune, and more with whether or not there was a possibility of California coming over. She tended to be as fickle as she was powerful, and required a finely-tread line to handle properly. If Ontario had any inclination that she might drop by, he would most certainly not be thinking much of anyone else.

Quebec didn't know how many times he'd been able to accomplish a great deal because California had distracted his brother, and he was sure the future would hold many more of those. Unfortunately, he hadn't paid enough attention to the news to know if that was even a possibility. This was a massive oversight but, with everything that'd been going on in his house, he felt that he had a decent excuse for it.

When he was far enough from the boundary line between their territories, he allowed himself to walk more leisurely. There was nobody else around interested enough to try and stop his trek, much less willing to assault him to do so.

His scalp still throbbed from where protesters had tried to rip his ahoge off, as if his ties to the country around him were as simple as that.

In his living room, Ontario had probably snapped to attention, now, sure he felt someone in his territory. Depending on who he thought it might be, he may have taken a sip of his beer. It was then he'd notice what his neglect had cost him, though depending on what situation he believed he'd have to tackle he would have replaced it or not. The Leafs would continue to play, unnoticed.

Outwardly, if the window shades were open, he wasn't nervous. He didn't pace, because someone could have seen him. But his feet did take him downstairs to clear his mind and bladder in preparation. It was a habit he'd fixed into himself, even if he wouldn't admit it, in order to allow his mind to focus on nothing but the agenda he needed to have set. He wanted to be able to sit in a meeting, distraction free, for hours on end.

Quebec neared the house, and found the ranch-style was lit up almost as if it were a model. The furniture was near ripped out of _Home and Garden_, each room staged to give off an air of inviting professionalism. There wasn't a single piece that hadn't been chosen with the intention of impressing business associates.

Even with everything that had happened, he continued to define himself by his position. For all the laziness, casualness, people accused him of having when he showed up in a wrinkled jersey he'd most likely slept in the night before...

This was, unfortunately, going to be much more like Quebec had anticipated it would be than he'd hoped. Such a shame.

From the living room, the roar of the crowd dominated everything around him. It was a wonder, really, that Ontario had even heard the doorbell ring over the noise. Knowing him, he may have been waiting right behind the door. When he opened it, his face was confident, smug, but free from the look of someone who'd spent his evening doing more than relaxing.

"I didn't think you'd be here tonight," Ontario said. His eyes moved over every inch of Quebec's body, causally as if it were simply incidental that a person was in his line of sight. He looked for something, and whether he'd found it or not was for him to know.

"I don't plan on being here long," Quebec replied. His speech had become unused to English, and struggled to push it out over his chattering teeth. "Stop blocking the door, it's windy as hell."

Ontario's mouth pulled up, and every hour of the preparation was on his face. Quebec didn't want that sort of knowledge, but he had no choice. He was nothing but aware he'd been prepared for as he was allowed to headed into the house.


	2. Chapter 2

Quebec worked out routinely, but he rarely had defined muscle to show for it. There were the rare occasions, when he felt that a firm bicep would be the intimidation factor he needed, that he would push himself harder and build it up. As soon as the threat had diminished, though, he'd let it slip away almost as an afterthought.

Ontario used his brother's biceps as a barometer, and had seen them firming, enlarging, within his sleeves. Not in person, he hadn't bothered to go over, but over the news cameras. Quebec had spent a great deal of time preparing himself for a fight that was inevitable in his mind, and he was sure Ontario was going to notice.

All it had really done was make Ontario take special note of how the sleeves lay so loosely now. The muscle had faded away and left him back to his normal lithe frame. Maybe a little too lithe. He probably hadn't had a full meal in a while, as told by how he devoured the food Ontario's made for himself earlier that night. The plate was ravaged in the most inconspicuous way possible.

"Like I said," Ontario began.

Quebec looked up as he chewed, the futile attempt to get enjoyment out of cold fried cheese evident on his face.

"I didn't expect to see you over here. I've been hearing that there's enough going on in your house to keep you too busy to travel."

Ontario made an attempt to at least get his beer, but Quebec took it rather quickly to rid his mouth of the taste. Even as he spoke, he kept the drink safely within his hands in full comprehension of what a prize it was.

"Normally, that would be true," Quebec said, "But I've heard that you've been stealing things from me." He looked over the top rim of the glass. "I want them back. All of them, and we can forget any unpleasantness ever happened."

The incorrect theories that had spent the evening swirling about Ontario's head fell away, and left only the single correct one behind. His mouth pulled, ever so slightly, in the unmistakable seriousness he reserved for business. Quebec suppressed a cough to match it.

"I didn't steal anything," he said. "I just kept my arms open when you decided to be inhospitable." He pushed his hair aside in mock casualness. "Didn't you think there'd be consequences when you imposed restrictions like that? Like giving me financial control, which I just love…"

"I love how you talk about this like you didn't spend your days stalking my border and ushering them into Toronto."

Ontario grinned. "Hospitality."

"Bullshit," Quebec snapped. "You're going to send them back."

"I would if they wanted to go back. They don't," Ontario told him. "Bank of Montreal is planning a name change, they're so pissed at you." He raised an eyebrow at the dismissive scoff. "They're in committee."

Quebec paused as he pushed himself back in his seat, not dissuaded as much as surprised. Ontario knew the difference between the looks, quite well, and wondered what had actually stopped him. Perhaps he hadn't realized how much he'd upset the people he'd needed. Maybe it was the first time he'd realized that things might never go back to the way they had been, or just that he hadn't counted on his brother having a ready counter-argument.

Ontario dismissed that one. Quebec knew how awesome he was.

Quebec pouted over the last few sips. "This isn't what I wanted to happen."

"It's what you did." His fingers clenched a bit. "You create a police state right next door to me, and you think I'm not going to…"

"Our heritage was _dying_," Quebec snapped. He didn't move from his seat, even though it appeared he desperately wanted to. "It couldn't be allowed to rot away like it never mattered, no matter how much you wish it would."

"I don't…" Ontario swallowed his defense in favor of the same cool look he'd retained all night. "Judging by the exodus, it seems it can."

"That's not why they left." Quebec looked down, his fingertips awkwardly padded on the glass. "There were just… execution-related issues I didn't quite iron out." He petered off, eyes focused on something that had probably not happened for a few days.

"Mhm."

"Shut up," he snapped, instantly back in the room and just as surly as before. "I'm rewriting some things, and if I get them back I can get healthy again and…"

"I'm not sending anything back," Ontario told him. "Even if I wanted to give you back the financial capital, it's out of my hands."

He hadn't seen Quebec abandon his glass and close the distance between them. Maybe he'd blinked and missed it, but he was completely unprepared when lips were forced on his, and a tongue forced its way into his mouth. Quebec tasted much too strongly of the cigarettes he must have been using in replacement of food, and left Ontario more surprised than anything.

"We both know what I want isn't in your hands," he said.

He nipped at the exposed neck, and moved his way down. Ontario's hands were on his ex's shoulders, ready to throw him off and then out of the house. He would snap that this was the wrong route to get something he had no business asking for in the first place, to come back when he was thinking clearly about this

But Quebec's hands had worked their way under his shirt, his fingers circled knowingly sensitive areas in the same gentle manner he'd used when they'd been peaceful. His teeth connected as they had when they'd first united for the good of their countrymen, drunk on optimism for their future.

Also, each other, even if it could never be dragged out in the modern day. Ontario continued to dismiss it to that moment in the armchair, just as he dismissed everything else that came up which made him more uncomfortably confined by the moment.

It was just pointless nostalgia that did this to him, but Quebec would pay for dragging this in. He tried to force his mind back to business, and the desire to keep everyone he'd taken in rather than the lust that had once existed.

By the time Quebec had sunk to his stomach, Ontario was a few hundred years back. They were entwined under the down comforters which kept out the winter. He had made another excuse in order to 'explore' their new territory. He had Quebec panting phrases Ontario had known before but had long since forgotten, until there was a satisfied, whispered, 'je t'aime'.

By the time Quebec had made it to Toronto, there wasn't a single thought of businesses to protect. He'd allowed himself to have his mind clouded, all too easily for his taste. Days, weeks, later, Ontario would kick himself for that.


	3. Chapter 3

Quebec had positioned himself between Ontario's legs, more to keep them spread than for ease of access. His hands, likewise, made moves which were stimulating but more designed to keep him seated exactly as he was.

There wasn't an attempt to put feeling into it, and that was evident in every lick, kiss, and suck. It was replaced by concentration, but around that was a set pattern. He'd been around long enough to know exactly how to make Ontario's toes curl and his breath to come out in forced moans, enough so that there may as well have been a numbered diagram drawn on the exposed length.

As he'd known they would, Ontario's hands knotted in his ex's meticulously feathered hair until it looked nothing like it should have. Somewhere in the back of Ontario's mind, sirens blared out that Quebec was dangerously close to what he should have been protecting. Ontario should have instead shoved him away and then out the door.

Those desperate warnings were silenced by far more prominent voices which declared how utterly unsatisfied he was. He chose to obey them, and attempt to push Quebec's head to take more of his length in. Unfortunately, Quebec's neck muscles proved to be infuriatingly resistant to his efforts. He continued to move along with his agenda as if there'd never been an interruption at all, much less such an impatient one.

It hadn't been a constant thing that Ontario would only be allowed to come on Quebec's say so. When they'd first been put together all those years ago, they'd crossed the space hesitantly and kept their touches gentle as if the other could shatter upon contact. It has lasted only a short while, as they found the youth of their bodies vastly preferred to grind and slam about. They came quickly, furiously, in an act that wasn't love making, wasn't sex, it was nothing short of primal.

Ontario was back to all those nights, if only because the man who sucked him off wasn't. He was in the middle of an investigation, a careful attempt at extraction. Quebec let his tongue travel along streets. If he found something that interested him, he'd increase the suction and cause his brother to howl.

He resumed his searching, and pointedly ignored how Ontario whined over his lack of fulfillment. Tears poured down his face as he alternated between hissing curses and begging to be let go. His legs wrapped tighter, or as best they could, and he clawed at what little remained of the hairstyling.

Quebec chuckled, or he would have were his mouth not so heavily occupied. His investigation was finished, and he looked up to watch his brother writhe about. He could nearly taste the newly-acquired, the sustained, wealth that pumped through his veins, that dripped down to be lapped up as if that alone were what he was going for.

The stilted cries were, for everything that had changed, the same. It was only the fact that he refused to look at anything but his ceiling fan that was new. Ignoring eyes was the trick he used to avoid thinking of anyone who wasn't him. He utilized it at times where he'd allowed his libido to be used against him, when he blamed everyone but himself for his erection. They hadn't been in that place before.

It'd been years since, sometime during their million trips in and out of reconciliation, Ontario had admitted who he was. He wanted to make a mark on the world. If he were to lose something, he'd get something right back and not give twice. He'd sworn Quebec was different, so he'd always look him straight in the eye.

Back then, though. Now Quebec wasn't that, but Ontario wasn't either. There was nothing like sentimentalism affecting Quebec, the man before him was a thief, a liar, an obstacle to be overcome…

It was the possibility of what he'd end up with (of what he'd get _back_, he corrected) that had made him uncomfortable. He readjusted his hips as if that would do anything. He had far too big of issues to get tied down with something like retaining feeling for someone he had to defeat.

Especially if he was ever to get out…

Above him, Ontario had nearly reached madness. His teeth were bared, his face glistened with sweat and tears. He'd been brought to the brink so many times, and there was one more to go. That, even, seemed like it'd be too much.

He was such a boy, and even if they ever developed to the point of being old men, he'd still be that awkward teen who'd asked permission to get within arm's length. Maybe only Quebec could see that, but that was the way it should be.

He could count the people who would have had his head if they'd found him thinking of Ontario, much less being in his home and sucking him off.

But they weren't there that night.

When he'd finally found everything he needed, he allowed Ontario release. He came with a scream into Quebec's mouth. Whether he had enough presence of mind left to know how bad that was, or whether it'd just occur to him later, was questionable.

Quebec made sure to swallow it down before he could show which it was. He had what he came for, probably. Whether he'd been successful or not was a question for later. He had an issue pressing torturously at his fly right then.

Ontario slowly brought his breath and heart rate back to normal as he was allowed to go limp. His eyes slowly opened again, but he still remained focused on the ceiling fan.

The chances were that he was busy searching himself for exactly how much he'd lost in the extraction. Whether it was more or less than he'd predicted was impossible to tell. He just looked tired, content, and like he very purposefully tried to ignore the person still between his legs.

Whatever the reason Quebec wanted more, he did. This cold shoulder act wasn't going to work.

With as much breath and dignity as he could manage, he said 'Ontario'.

Ontario's gaze gaze, with obvious reluctance, moved from the ceiling fan down to his ex. And, within a moment, the rest of his body followed suit.


	4. Chapter 4

Even in the height of stress and violence, even in the point where he'd obviously neglected himself and lost weight, Quebec's clothes were meticulously tailored. If his partner were to be respectful, removing them was a chore which often fatally cut into any mood which had been created. If given the choice, he'd have them neatly folded or hung up depending upon the unnecessarily complex needs of the given garment.

Ontario was in absolutely no mood to be nice, and he ripped through the imported silk. He had more satisfaction than he should have when what Quebec would probably swear were designer buttons bounced off to never be seen again. There was far more in that Quebec didn't seem to care a bit about it.

All he seemed to want was skin, as much as possible. He bunched the loose clothing at the two poles of Ontario's body, and seemed perfectly content to keep it that way. Quebec worked himself against Ontario's stomach, his lip bit fiercely as he leaked back onto himself.

It was very much like Quebec, as of late, to think he could get his way twice. He should have learned by now that sort of thinking would backfire. He, thankfully, had an excellent teacher.

Ontario grabbed him by the wrists, and dug his nails to attempt to force Quebec out of his haze. It was only, though, when he moved himself to where he couldn't be ground against that he was able to get any sort of attention.

"You had your turn," he said. He kept his voice steady, a pointed contrast to Quebec's labored breath. "This is mine."

"Ontario," he said, his voice near a whine. "I'm…" His length throbbed from lack of contact. All it probably would have taken was a single, meaningful pump and he would have been done. Unfortunately for him, Ontario was as well-aware of this as he was.

"Due time."

He began at the neck, delicate flesh which had forgotten the feeling of teeth. It reddened obediently, almost readily, in perfect prints of his incisors.

He moved his way down. Ontario's tongue traced the collarbone, and ribs that jutted out from under the skin in fierce points. It wasn't the sort of thing one expected on someone who was discontent with less than one fried meal a day.

Ontario had to wonder if it wasn't just that he wasn't eating as much, but how long it'd been since Quebec had been able to actually digest his food properly. If things were worse off than Ontario had researched them to be, but definitely the way he knew they had been over the years, he wondered how long it would be until he'd be able to do it again.

Ontario would have taken him to the hospital, if he hadn't been sure that Quebec would never have stayed.

With nothing to be done, he moved on down the stomach to the tip of where his pubic hair stopped its climb up his torso. Quebec hissed, and offered his hips in anticipation, but Ontario wasn't ready to oblige just yet. He lingered, instead, and traced around the area with kisses and licks that allowed for nothing that Quebec wanted.

Every bit of contact inspired a fresh string of French swearing and threats to Ontario's vital regions and life With his hands still clamped, Quebec could do nothing but glare down at him at the feather-light touches on sensitive areas.

His English was completely gone from stress, and his French came out through gritted teeth. It took a while for Ontario to decipher that Quebec had demanded to know if he'd finally gone impotent.

All talk stopped when Ontario finally obliged and inserted a finger. It was replaced with a satisfied hiss, and a pull at the corners of his mouth. Ontario found that he was disappointed that there was nothing else offered, and he was disgusted with himself for that. He knew better than to think Quebec would be thinking of Ontario as more than a means to an end, especially when he'd come there whoring himself.

This sappiness would be the death of him.

It seemed that Quebec's sabbatical had extended to sex, and it took longer than it should have to get him stretched out properly. He worked with the precum, the commercial lubricant effectively oceans away in the bedroom, but Ontario could feel that this wouldn't be an easy night. It wasn't aided with the fact that, while Quebec had progressed, he was still impatient and bucked against Ontario's hands.

Quebec managed to work his leg up to rub purposefully between Ontario's legs. He wanted to say something smart and dangerously sharp, but Ontario didn't give him that chance. He instead removed his hands from an area he hadn't quite prepped to his satisfaction, and inserted himself roughly to make Quebec shut up.

He received a cry instead which, quite frankly, was close enough.

They moved together, in what they both recognized was eagerness to make up for lost time. It wasn't about either of them being together, but the freedom from who they were meant to be or who they were. They were allowed to become who they were right then, and they thrusted their approval with everything they had.

After they'd clawed, kissed, bitten at each other, they came. Not together, but it seemed close enough. Ontario was left with just enough state of mind and energy not to collapse upon his partner, and instead fell to the side.

The two laid upon what looked like a store room rug, dwarfed by the appearance Ontario had constructed for himself. A lot of that was purchased by the proceeds of what he'd taken from Quebec. They both knew it, just as they knew each subsequent remolding would dip into the exact same fund.

Under the roar from the game neither had remembered was on, Ontario heard a faint, exhausted 'je ne te hais pas'. As annoying as it was, he was positive that he needed to relearn his French for the coming years. There was no way he'd translated correctly.


	5. Chapter 5

Ontario had bought his area rug a year or two back from a gallery in Austin, and to have it padded and shipped back home had cost nearly as much. It complimented the black-leather furniture, the mahogany of the coffee table, and of course the pop art on the wall that the entire room had been based around.

The rug had been the final, perfect touch to his staging. And, over the course of the night, it had become crumpled and stained. It huddled against the legs of the coffee table almost like a frightened animal. Ontario looked at it despairingly as he found the energy to sit up; however, Quebec seemed unconcerned about what he'd done as he stretched.

Ontario figured he'd need a miracle worker of a cleaner to get it back to normal. He went through the options in his head as he shut off the post game and looked out the window. Frost, and the first traces of snow, had begun to climb up the glass.

"Looks like it's still cold out there," he said. Ontario cut Quebec off as he began to reply. "We use English in my house. You can do whatever you want in yours."

Quebec frowned deeply, but forced his exhaustion aside to find what English skills were left within him. "Freezing. The newspaper said it'd drop even more tonight."

"I'll get in trouble if you get more sick." He glanced back. "I guess I'll have to let you sleep here."

Quebec didn't look up. He chose, instead, to focus on the damage to his clothing as he digested the invitation and everything behind it. He folded up the torn, wrinkled outfit. "So, I'll take the guest room."

Ontario shrugged off any hesitation he felt. "You remember where it is?"

The 'oui' was said pointedly, and Quebec limped down the hall with as close to dignity has he could manage while blood slowly fell down his legs. The door lock clicked into place behind him.

To feel disappointment was for people who had time to waste on such things, and Ontario wasn't like that. He had work to do the next morning, and headed for his own room for the night.

As he prepared himself for bed, Ontario followed Quebec in his mind. The other province cleaned himself thoroughly, though no more than usual. He moisturized, scrubbed, and then fixed his hair so that it looked as if he was ready for a photo shoot when he put his head upon the pillow.

For lack of another option in his mind, Quebec would sleep naked, cocooned under every blanket and sheet he could get his hands on.

Ontario's bed was as cold and vast as the land outside, and with Quebec's ill health he was sure they slept equally uncomfortably that night. He reminded himself that, for as cold as his bed was, Quebec would hardly have helped warm it. He'd always been frigid, and that sort of thing tended to magnify when he believed he was right. That was often, and especially on nights like this one.

He resigned to sleep alone, and when he woke the next morning there was a note left on the dresser. Quebec informed him that he'd taken a set of clothing, and would do Ontario the favor of destroying it.

By the point he found the note, Quebec had no doubt managed to limp all the way back to his territory. He probably occupied himself, then, with making up an excuse for any injuries he'd sustained the night before. The story probably had a lot to do with a roving gang of Anglophones, and depending upon which group he told it to they may have completely believed him or called him out on the lies.

Whenever he finally managed to get back home and check his accomplishments, he'd no doubt find he'd gotten less than a quarter of what he'd come for. He'd be furious, of course, but the fact that Ontario had held onto exactly what he needed to was the important part.

With the dishes done, and the rug returned from the cleaners later that afternoon, the living room looked exactly as it had before.


	6. Chapter 6

They had not divorced without solid cause. Even when they managed to put those feelings aside and reconcile, they broke up again for very legitimate reasons. Regardless of what they wanted no orgasm, no camaraderie, and no sentimentality made that knowledge any less powerful.

Quebec reminded himself of this as he made sure his collar was high enough to hide the bite marks on his neck. It was a sad thing that he needed to. But, here he went again, going through the reasons nobody, especially him, should be with Ontario.

Ontario, who'd never met an orifice he didn't want to know better. Ontario, who was greedy and manipulative enough to propel him into the position he had.

Ontario, who'd turned a blind eye to what the English had done to their territory, and over-seen what they'd done to his current husband.

This was who his ex was, who he'd always been. Quebec fiercely reminded himself of everything as he fixed his tie.

Ontario had been successful, he'd done good things because of (or despite of), what he was. He could build as quickly as he could destroy, there was no way Quebec could become mixed up with that sort of trouble if he were going to survive.

He had far more important things to worry about, anyway. His economy needed to be put back on track. Whatever his government was to be, it needed to get back into control of his people. It was all so much more weighty than someone who'd pointedly made himself the enemy.

Quebec looked himself over in the mirror. Even as meticulously groomed as he wanted himself to be, he still looked horrible. This period had made him frail, and to show up like this amongst his (former) brethren would make them think he was ready to fold.

Not that anyone had bothered to notice Quebec's condition deficiencies. The meeting opened with Manitoba threatening bodily harm and property damage, which held everyone's interest if only to see if he'd follow through for once, if Ontario dared have the television that loud again. When order was called, they moved onto agriculture.

Somewhere around Saskatchewan's 10th graph about tubers in a seemingly never-ending discussion between the prairies about winter vegetables, the focus of everyone else had waned. British Columbia tapped at her notebook with her pencil, Nova Scotia caught up on sleep against New Brunswick's shoulder, the others watched with varying degrees of disinterest.

When some sort of argument broke out over beets, Ontario decided to keep his energies focused on reading the book he held under the table rather than his job of keeping things civil. Quebec had time to think that he shouldn't have, which was by no means a good thing.

There were so many things he needed to focus on. The world reception towards him needed to be corrected and built back up. His population had plummeted with his income, he needed to figure out a way to attract people in or back (which didn't really matter). If he was to rebel, things needed to be put in order enough to handle that.

Unfortunately, all that his mind seemed interested in exploring was how good Ontario would look bent over the table, moaning like a wanton...

He rubbed his eyes. This was a horrible development at the worst possible time.

Quebec attempted to force his attention back to the meeting, if only for the distraction. The display showed a hot house, but the English they used moved far too fast for him to know if it was still remotely related to them. Knowing those three, it probably wasn't.

The others were engaged in essentially every activity but paying attention, so evidently it was again nothing important. Quebec glanced over, and found that Yukon had managed to slip out. Lucky girl, he'd have to interrogate her about her technique. Because the ability to get out of the meeting and into Ontario was… NO.

He forced his mind to try and remember his English enough to know even a quarter of what they seemed bloodthirsty about. Something about lettuce…. Lettuce and beef, it seemed. Alberta and Manitoba looked to have formed enough common ground to go after Saskatchewan… No, the alliance was over.

Saskatchewan looked to Ontario for help, but the lead province had little interest in doing his job. For lack of anyone else to turn to, he looked at Quebec pleadingly. It wasn't like he cared for brethren he wouldn't be tied to much longer. He just had someone… _a job_ to do until that day.

"Oi," he snapped, loud enough to break over the racket.

The argument stopped, or paused, rather, and the assembly turned its attention to Quebec. It was also enough to finally snap Ontario back into the mindset of work.

"Okay, I think that's enough," he said as he put his book away. "Let's move onto fisheries…"

The meeting carried on with the plains in an uneasy (but quiet) truce and the other provinces at varying degrees of attentiveness. Yukon had slipped back into her seat at some point. The girl must have been some sort of ghost, because that she could do so without detection no sense otherwise.

Quebec's mind held onto the meeting as much as it strayed.

As much as things had been horrible lately, where he was at wasn't all that bad if he thought about it. To not be the head of the country didn't have to be a disaster, after all, if you were able to be the neck and manipulate it to your satisfaction.

Maybe his ability to judge had been clouded. In fact, he was sure it had been. But he was fine.

Somewhere during British Columbia's 3rd graph about sustainability in halibut populations, Quebec slipped a note to Ontario under the table. Against his better judgment, he'd asked if Ontario was free again that night. With equally poor decision making, Ontario nodded once and tucked the note into his pocket.

For some reason, they were both happy with this, even if their faces remained strictly professional for the sake of their brethren who wouldn't understand.


End file.
